A Slight Abnormality
by smallsteps32
Summary: Martin Crieff has a slight abnormality of the inner ear - but he's still fit to fly! It just means that he passes out when he gets dizzy. Five times that Martin's inner ear led to an uncomfortable end, and the one time he didn't really mind. Prompted by Ashtrees
1. Chapter 1

**Hello - First, a disclaimer. Everything you see is the brainchild of Mr Finnemore. **

**On with the show. This will be multi-chapter, but short chapters. The idea comes from a prompt by Ashtrees. I've decided to keep this within my Deborah Richardson AU. So, I hope you enjoy.**

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**A Slight Abnormality**

**One**

It had been a hard month. The hardest that Martin Crieff had endured in all of his six years of life.

His foul mood has started, in fact, on his sixth birthday. Any other time of the year, nobody would have noticed him sniffling or grumbling (Martin was always pouty and independent when he didn't get his way, something that his parents had learnt early on) but this was the one time of year that he was supposed to be cheerful.

That was why Mummy had been so insistent that Martin get out of the house and go to the park with Simon and Caitlin. Martin hadn't wanted to go. He would have rather stayed indoors and re-read the picture books that he had been bought, about an elephant that flew all around the world in his inaccurate but funny plane.

The park was fun when Mummy and Daddy went with him; they always played and paid him lots of attention. When they weren't there, however, none of the other children filled their place. None of the other children played with him.

Martin didn't know the other children, but they didn't seem to know each other either. They just seemed to meet and play within moments. But Martin didn't know how to go and talk to them or convince them to play with him. It would have been nice though…so Martin didn't want to go.

They made him go anyway, kicking and pouting behind Simon while Caitlin huffed at his side.

In rebellion, Martin sat on the edge of the grass, his trainers on the concrete, one hand on his knees while the other pushed under his nose, and he watched everyone else play and run and scream. Simon was climbing the monkey bars with a boy that he had met for the first time that morning. Caitlin was spinning around and around on the roundabout.

Martin didn't want to watch her. The spinning was making him feel sick more than the remnants of the temper tantrum that he had thrown when Mummy had made him leave the house.

Martin wouldn't say no to her though. That would mean telling her what was wrong. He didn't want to tell her in case she thought he was silly.

It had started on his birthday. They had thrown him a party – no children. Just his cousins, and even they ignored him when the balloons came out. Martin had enjoyed himself though. Mummy and Daddy had bought him a model aeroplane and told him to be really careful with it.

He had known how to be careful.

Then it had all gone wrong.

One of his aunts had sat down at Martin's side, a plate of cocktail sausages in her hands, and asked him lots of questions. She cooed at how old he was getting. She asked Martin what he wanted to do now that he was getting older.

"I-I-I want, I want to be an aeroplane!" Martin had exclaimed, holding up his model for her to look at, "Not like this one, b-but a, a different plane."

His aunt had let out a raucous guffaw, and Martin's heart had dropped.

"You can't be a plane!" she had squawked, slapping her hand on her knee.

"W-w-why not?" Martin had mumbled, lips wobbling as he clutched his toy to his chest.

"Because planes are machines." His aunt had laughed, shaking her head and smiling even as Martin's joy faded, "You're not a machine. You're a little boy."

Even though it was rude, Martin had run away, tears in his eyes, and hidden under the kitchen table. He wasn't allowed to hide in the treehouse anymore. Not since he had tried to fly in the plane that he had built.

Martin was still sad; too sad, even a month on, to enjoy the park anymore.

Hands on Martin's arms made him jump, and Martin's legs were kicking in the air before he realised that it was Simon, lifting him up from the ground. Simon, as always, ignored his furious shouts.

"Come on, Marty, cheer up!" Simon yelled, hoisting Martin into his arms and swinging him around, up into the air and back down again, then back up above his shoulders, "You're flying!"

"Put me down!" Martin shrieked, kicking out at nothing, hurling his arms around, unable to free himself, "_Please! _Put me _down!" _

"But you're flying – just like a plane!" Simon insisted, and he didn't stop swinging him around, "You like planes."

"I don't wanna be a plane!" Martin cried, eyes hot as he began to tear up; he slammed his pudgy fists over his eyes as they started to burn, and the fight went out of him, "Put me down, p-p-please."

Simon dropped him straight away and Martin was so surprised that he fell onto his backside. Martin pulled himself up, pushing at the dirt on his trousers, sniffling as he looked up at the strange expression on Simon's face.

"What do you mean you don't want to be a plane?" Simon asked, bending at the knees so that they were on an equal level, "You always wanted to be a plane. That's all you ever talk about."

"I-I-I'm not made of metal." Martin snuffled, dropping his head to stare at his feet, hands clenching at his sides; he felt like he was being inspected, like the soldiers in the films that Daddy liked to watch, "Planes, th-they had metal a-and wings, a-and engines. I-I don't have wings, s-so I can't be a plane, o-or go flying."

"You can still go flying." Simon replied, blinking as if dazed, and he reached down to pat Martin's shoulder.

"H-how?" Martin stammered, gripped by desperation. He didn't want the other children to see how sad he was, but he couldn't help it.

"Who do you think flies the planes?" Simon snorted, "Pilots fly planes like Dad drives the van."

"Could I be a pilot?" Martin gaped at his brother, mouth falling open. He had never known this before. No one had ever told him.

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Simon answered, shrugging his shoulders, oblivious to the wonderment that had seized his younger brother, "How about this? Would you like to go on the roundabout?"

Martin was so flushed with amazement that he just nodded and allowed Simon to pick him up and carry him to the roundabout. He didn't complain as Simon made sure he was secured and began running around, spinning him slowly at first.

A pilot.

Of course. He could _fly_ the planes. Why hadn't he thought about it before? It was the only thing that made any sense!

Martin gripped the metal bars when he felt himself slipping, and blinked in wonder as Simon laughed and spun him a little faster.

A pilot…

It was like the clouds had parted and he sun was shining on his face. This was something that Martin had to do. He could dedicate his whole life to it. When teachers asked what job he wanted, he could say – I want to be a pilot! It was already everything that he wanted to do with his life.

Martin beamed as he span around and around, getting dizzier and dizzier. He had learnt something new about himself – he was destined to be a pilot.

Unfortunately, Martin also learnt another thing about himself that day. The faster the roundabout span, the more the world around him started to blur and his ears began to ring. Martin's head went fuzzy as he grew dizzier and dizzier and spots filled his vision.

It was a bit like flying –

- the next thing Martin was aware of was Simon and Caitlin leaning over him as he laid back on the ground.

Martin was terrified, of course…until he saw a plane pootling through the sky. While Simon hastily told Caitlin to stay where she was while he got Mummy, Martin giggled to himself. No amount of terror about his health could quash the brilliance of his epiphany.

A pilot!

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**I hope you enjoyed that. More to come. Thank you for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

At nine years old, there were a lot of things that Martin could and couldn't do. More often than not, he would find that he couldn't do something, and that was _before_ his inner ear problem put him out of action.

Martin just wasn't built for beginner's luck. That was what Dad said, anyway. Nobody else said a thing, except Caitlin, and she only blew raspberries at him.

It didn't matter. Martin was content. He was going to be a pilot, no matter what he could and couldn't do. Martin had all of the books, all of the models, all of the things that he would need to learn how to fly planes.

Dad was even going to let him join the cadets!

Anything to get his son to socialise with other children. They had visited the centre once to see how the other children liked it. The other children weren't as interested in actually flying, but it was something at least. At least they were a little bit interested in planes, and that was enough to make Martin look forward to the day that he was old enough to join.

It was enough to make Martin's confidence stay nice and high as he discovered more and more things that made him pass out; at least one new thing a year.

It was even enough to keep Martin from complaining as Mum and Dad, mostly Dad, tried to encourage him to take up more hobbies. Apparently an interest in planes wasn't a good enough hobby, even though Martin had stuck with it longer than Simon had stuck with anything in his whole life.

Martin was happy to sit and help Dad fix the van, or rewire the fuses under the stairs, or plumb the sink, so long as when they were done he could go to his room and learn about the next plane in his encyclopaedia. Dad was less happy about that bit, but Mum made him leave Martin alone instead of harassing him to go outside and play sports with him.

This week, the chosen hobby was swimming. Simon was competing for his school at the end of the month and wanted to show off his skills. This meant that everyone had been packed into the car and driven to the local indoor pool.

All the way there, Mum and Dad had reminisced about how the last time they had all been swimming had been before Caitlin had been born and Martin had been just a little baby. Dad was sure that Martin had shown a talent for it, even though that was doubtful given that at the time, he hadn't been able to support his own head.

Not that Martin had been listening, of course. He had a new book that Dad had bought at Duxford, just for him. A week beforehand, Dad had said 'enough's enough – Martin has more books about bloody aircraft than I have about spark plugs', but he must have forgotten that when he had driven home from his job in Oxford. He complained a lot, but he always made sure to buy his children gifts – something flight related for Martin, something yellow for Caitlin (who had sworn off pink), and something sporting for Simon.

So while Simon splashed around at one end of the pool, while Mum watched and cooed and kept one arm around Caitlin at all times, Martin sat on the opposite end, book in his lap, toes dangling in the water, doing his best to ignore Dad.

"Come on, Martin. Hop in and swim some lengths with me." Dad prodded him from where he was standing at the pool's edge, waist deep in the water, frowning as Martin kept his nose in the book; he didn't give up, "I bet I could beat you even if you got a head start."

"Yeah, 'cos you're bigger than me." Martin sighed, stroking the pages between his fingers as he spared his Dad a fleeting glance; it had been a long time since reverse psychology had worked on him, and he wasn't so competitive that he would abandon his reading material just to lose, "I-I-I-I can't even swim properly yet."

"Well you're never gonna learn if you don't get in the water." Dad groaned, and he reached out to take the book from Martin's hands, folding closed even as a squeak of protest left his son's throat, "Right, this is me telling you as a grown up now: you're gonna get in and swim around for a bit with the rest of us. It'll be fun."

"B-but _Dad_, please." Martin whined, pouting furiously, cheeks burning as he glared up at him, then out across the pool as if his siblings were to blame.

"No, no _Dad_s, no _please_s." Dad shook his head and ignored Martin's protests, picking him up under the arms and lowering him into the water so that Martin's feet touched the bottom of the shallow end, "We came here to swim, not to sit on the edge of the pool. Just swim around a bit."

Despite how cold the water was and how angry that he was about having his book taken away, Martin kept his mouth shut. He folded his arms and stood stock still, water lapping just at the top of his chest, but he didn't say a word. It wasn't fair really. He had no interest in swimming, but he had worked out by now that when Dad wanted something done, it was best to keep his mouth shut, do it for ten minutes, then declare that it wasn't for him.

So Martin swam around a bit. Actually, he puttered around the shallow end, occasionally lifting his feet from the floor, and checked over his shoulder to make sure that Dad was watching just how obedient he was being. It wasn't fun and it wasn't anything like what Martin liked to do…but it was making Dad happy, and it was nice to see the smile on his face.

Whenever Martin took his feet from the floor, Dad would even step closer and place his hand underneath Martin's stomach so that he didn't sink too far. That was enough to make Martin just a little more comfortable swimming for the first time since he was a baby.

"See, it's great isn't it?" Dad crooned as Martin studiously ignored him, "It bet if we trained you up properly, got you good enough to go in the deep end, you could compete, like Simon. You could be on the team, Martin, wouldn't that be nice?"

"No." Martin replied petulantly, splashing his hands to prove that he wasn't as good a beginner as Dad seemed to think.

"But you'd make loads of friends on the swim team." Dad bemoaned, frowning as Martin wobbled to his feet and stopped floating around. He placed his hand on his waist, the other on his balding head.

Martin didn't grace that with an answer. Instead, he just turned and pouted over at Mum and Caitlin, who were watching Simon line himself up on a diving block. Unfortunately, Mum caught his eye and beamed, waving them over.

"Raymond, come and see what Simon's doing." Mum called, and Martin knew she expected Dad to take him with him, "Today was supposed to be about Simon and you've barely watched a thing. He's ever so good."

Then she turned back to watch Simon as he grinned devilishly and hopped into the water. Dad offered Martin a put-upon sigh and shrugged his shoulders.

"Come on then, son." Dad rumbled, stepping closer so that he could swish an arm through the water and usher Martin along with him; he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in Martin's ear, "Let's go watch your brother show off."

Martin giggled, even though something panged in his chest at how easily his own plight was forgotten. True, he didn't want to swim, but Dad _had_ been trying so hard to make him, and then all Simon had to do was splash around and everyone had to come and watch him. They wouldn't have even been there if it hadn't been for Simon.

Simon was perfect at everything.

At some point, while everyone else was watching Simon demonstrate perfect dives into the deep end of the pool, Martin started to really _notice_ the water.

It wasn't as if he hadn't noticed it before. It was wet after all, and warmish. As they had swum into the deep end, Dad had kept one arm around Martin to make sure that he didn't sink. Martin helped the effort by turning his legs in circles and letting his arms lie to the sides to keep him afloat.

But he really began to notice to way that the water bobbed underneath his chin and tickled through his toes. The smell got in his nose and stung his eyes, but he kept his head above the water and listened to Mum and Dad cheer Simon on while Caitlin complained.

After a while, Dad's arm slackened as he clapped. At first, Martin was worried…then a defiant spark erupted in his chest. If Dad wanted him to swim, then he should swim. Show them all that he was as good as Simon. He didn't want to join the swim team, but he could if he wanted to.

Carefully, Martin pushed his arms through the water, tilted his legs, until he drifted away from his Dad. Elation tore through him as he stated afloat. He was doing it! He was actually swimming all on his own!

Giving in to a proud slither of confidence, Martin decided to let his head slip underneath the water…then back up. It was disgusting, and his eyes stung and his tongue was disgusting and his ears were ringing – but he did it!

Martin did it again – then again. Under then back up, like a proper swimmer.

Martin ducked under one last time, and he was about to rise, to tell Dad how good he had got all on his own – when his ears popped and dizziness flooded his senses.

Panic seized him and Martin started to thrash underneath the water as his head grew dizzy and his ears rang louder and louder. His eyes were squeezed too tightly to see anything, and the water was thick and sloshy all around him…Martin didn't know which way up he was, and he was so dizzy…

…The next thing Martin knew he was lying on the cold wet floor, blinking stinging eyes up at the ceiling and gasping for breath. His throat hurt and his head was spinning. Dad was leaning over him, a hand on his chest, and Caitlin's voice was somewhere to his right, going '_oh not again'_ over and over in her childish way.

Martin shivered and tears welled in his eyes as his body realised how frightened he was. Everything went past him in a blur. Dad was angry, Mum was crying. Simon was making a frowning, scowling sort of face while Caitlin was just as blissfully ignorant to his pain as always.

It wasn't until Mum was wrapping him in a towel and hugging him to her chest that he thought he quite agreed with Caitlin.

Not again.

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**Aw, poor Martin.**

**Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, brief as it was.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

It wasn't often that Mum and Dad treated them to a day out, but on birthdays they pulled out all the stops. Despite their efforts, Martin hadn't abandoned his dreams of being a pilot; in fact, being in the Cadets had only strengthened his resolve. It hadn't helped his socialise the way that he had wanted to, but there were a few…acquaintances that he spoke to when he attended sessions.

So, when Martin's birthday had rolled around, they had surprised him with a trip to an air-show. Of course, they had to wait a while, but Martin was content to wait the rest of his life if it meant that he could spend the day in the sun watching the country's best aircraft performing miles above their heads.

The sun was shining. The wind wasn't blowing too hard. It was still early and promising to be a good day….or it would have been, if Dad would have stopped going on and on in spite of Martin's ignoring him.

"I mean it, son." Dad carried on just as he had throughout the drive to the crowded airfield, and all the way through admissions; now he strode alone between Martin and Simon, hands in his pockets, eye squinted against the bright sun overhead, "You're studying all the right subjects."

"To be a pilot." Martin grumbled, just loud enough for his father to hear. Regardless, he made a point of tipping up his nose and peering across the open spaces to inspect the glittering aircraft that sat proudly on the tarmac, and the uniformed personnel giving short lectures to young children and elderly enthusiasts alike.

"But you could just as easily use those skills to be an electrician." Dad insisted, his optimism as impenetrable as ever even though he only paid Martin's grumbling the slightest of his attentions, "You're very good at it."

"Oh, Raymond, stop bothering the boy." Mum scolded him lightly, giving his arm a gently slap with the back of her hand as she left the other on Simon's shoulder; her breezy mood was the only saving grace that Martin could find in amongst his father continuous efforts, "It's his birthday."

"And we've heard this all before." Caitlin trilled as she skipped along behind them, weaving in amongst the other visitors. For once, Martin had to agree with her.

"Oi, you." Dad fixed her with a good-natured glare, his attention finally drawn away from Martin long enough for him to slip out from between him and his brother; he pointed a finger at his daughter, "Watch your mouth, young lady."

"Or what?" Caitlin retorted, turning to skip backwards, her hands behind her back, her tongue out and ready to point with petulant ease. She hadn't wanted to come with them in the first place.

"Or I'll scoop you up and leave you in a fighter jet." Dad replied, and he caught up with Caitlin, scooping her into his arms and slinging her over his shoulder, even as she squealed and kicked her legs out in all directions, "I'll close the lid so that nobody knows you're there."

"I should be at home, studying." Simon piped up from the side. His frown was as strong as it had been when they had left the house. Just because Martin had been so looking forward to the day didn't mean his siblings had mustered up any kind of excitement.

"We'll stay in and study tomorrow, dear." Mum assured him, adopting the sweet, indulgent tone that Martin had been finding just a little bit grating in recent months, "Today's for Martin."

Martin didn't wait around to hear what Simon said in return. Head down, hands in pockets, he wandered over to the edge of a crowd that was pouring out of a large tent, only to find that he was too short to see what was inside. A moment later, Dad was at his side, plopping Caitlin down on the ground.

"Go on, you two." Dad instructed, clapping Martin on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble, although he stopped him from falling more than an inch, "Go and run around."

"This isn't a playground." Martin sniffed at the ground and scuffed his feet; now that he was there, he would have preferred to be allowed to wander on his own, to enjoy the air-show around people that were as fascinated as he was in the subject matter, "This is an educational event for aircraft enthusiasts – i-it's my one chance to get up close and personal with rare planes."

"Just go with your sister." Dad sighed, and before Martin could argue, he walked away, leaving the two of them alone while he returned to Mum's side with Simon. There was no choice but to follow Caitlin as she skipped away through the crowds.

It wasn't fair.

It was, however, a welcome escape from the need to pretend to pay attention to his family. For a while, Martin was able to enjoy trailing around after Caitlin, as she surged a path to the tarmac, past every stationary aircraft that was on display, stopping to tip her head back when the aerobatic planes passed overhead.

Of course, she didn't listen when Martin reeled off everything that he knew about each of them, but it was nice to talk about them without being told to shut up. At one point, an elderly woman even stopped to listen, nodding along to every word. Every speech was proceeded by Caitlin's declaration that it was 'boring', which Martin decided to see as a helpful sign that they should move on to the next plane.

Even the seasoned pilot letting children sit play with the control panel inside the Hercules C-17 didn't hold her attention. It didn't matter though. Martin was practically buoyant as they exited the aircraft, shoes clacking loudly on the grated ramp.

It wasn't until they reached a khaki tent that Caitlin altered her speech patterns.

Inside there were posters and pieces of machinery, the internal workings of the aircraft around them. There were pilots, tall and proud and everything that Martin wanted to be, showing visitors parachute straps and helmets. In the corner, there was a large, round, shining metal device with a seat built into the middle; a device that replicated the g-force that fighter pilots came up against every day. The child strapped into it was giggling and screaming as if she couldn't decide which was more appropriate.

"You're going to have to fly boring planes." Caitlin remarked, tugging at Martin's elbow to get his attention.

"What?" Martin replied, shaking his head to snap out of the haze of slightly dejected wonderment that had glossed his vision.

"Look." Caitlin took a proper hold of his arm and pointed at the spinning monstrosity; just looking at it made Martin dizzy, and she had to know that, "That man's using the spinning thing to show what it's like to fly fighter jets."

"Well, yeah – o-of course he is." Martin stammered, brow furrowing in confusion, "Fighter pilots have to be trained to withstand all sorts of g-force a-and-"

"So you can't fly them." Caitlin stated simply, and then she threw out her hand to point more emphatically at the spinning device, as if proving a point, "You couldn't even do _that_."

"I-I-I _could_." Martin replied hotly, cheeks burning as indignation caught him around the chest. Even though he knew that he couldn't stand being dizzy for more than a minute at most, he couldn't let Caitlin think that she was right- he just couldn't. She was _always_ teasing him.

"Prove it!" Caitlin sneered, hands bunching at her waist in a childish motion as her lips curled into a devious smirk.

"Fine!" Martin snapped, puffing out his chest as he mirrored her posture, "I will!"

Martin knew that it was a stupid move and he knew that he was being played, but he couldn't walk away. Instead, he turned his back on his sister, ignoring the giggles that followed his every step, and marched towards the spinning metal device, with its daunting rings and its swift swishing. He would have to face it one day…it would take years to get used to the pressure involved in being a pilot, so he might as well start somewhere.

It wasn't entirely about showing off…but Martin really hoped that Mum and Dad were nowhere nearby.

Martin's nerve began to waver as he was being secured into the spinning device. The man in charge didn't even question it. After all, it wasn't as if it was dangerous for children. He smiled, and Martin smiled back, and did his best to wish away the fuzziness that accumulated behind his eyes and ears before the man even span the metal rings, tipping him upside down and around.

He could do it.

Martin couldn't do it; a sad truth that he discovered around about the time he was lying flat on his back, a familiar position with Caitlin at his side, Mum on his other, tittering over him. Caitlin actually seemed to be giggling.

The dizziness must have hit him so quickly that he hadn't even been aware of passing out.

Hastily, Martin launched himself from the ground, ignoring the fluttering inside his skull and the embarrassed flush in his cheeks.

"Oh, Martin, you know you can't do that." Wendy tutted over him, her tone half-way between concern and exasperation as she tried to pat him down and check all of his limbs, "What were you thinking?"

"Nothing, Mum." Martin groaned, shaking her off and storming away from the tent, avoiding the stares of the other visitors around him; he didn't want to see the judgement on their faces, "D-don't tell Dad, o-or Simon."

"Of course I'm going to tell your father." Mum sighed, hurrying after him, Caitlin skipping along in her wake, "He's going to be having some strong words with you."

Fantastic. Wonderful. That was the last thing Martin needed. One more reason for Dad to tally up to argue against him becoming a pilot.

As if Martin hadn't already filed it away in his own mind.

He would just have to become a boring pilot…no fighter jets for him.

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**Thank you for reading - about half way through now. : )**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello - Here I give you two chapter as an Easter treat.**

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**Four**

It was lunchtime, and Martin Crieff was in the library. Martin Crieff was the only person in the library, save for one or two of his classmates that actually cared about whether they passed their A-Levels.

If he was honest with himself, he quite liked the peace and quiet; it was much nicer than trying to study in the classroom, or outside. Tucked away with the shelves, it was the perfect place to pour over his knock-off flight manuals one more time, just to make sure that he had underlined everything of importance. He was sure that he had memorised everything he needed for his exams the next week, but this was…purely recreational.

As soon as the protocol and the facts were as easy to him as breathing, Martin would be confident that he could apply.

Martin was just settling down, perched on the comfiest wheelie-chair, arms folded over the long desk, book laid out under his nose. He let out a sigh, the pinnacle of relaxation, and turned his eyes to the page.

"Hey, hey Crieff." The peace was shattered as the voice of Graham Thompson rang out across the library, followed by the clumsy beat of his shoes as he came to leer over Martin's shoulder, "What you reading?"

"A book." Martin replied curtly, sitting up so that he could fold the manual closed and position his arms over the top of it, protecting it from harm. The movement meant that he saw Charlie Hopkins sidle up to his other shoulder.

Neither boy was a bully, per say, nor were they particularly badly behaved. They were just annoying and took a peculiar pleasure in winding Martin up. Simon said that it was just their way of showing him attention and demonstrating how they wanted to be his friends but didn't know how to ask…Martin didn't think that was quite right.

"Let me see." Graham muttered, and just like that he reached out to try and snatch the manual, pushing past Martin on the way.

"No – leave me alone." Martin clamped down on the book, slamming his arms and chest down to protect it from harm as he felt his cheeks heat up with frustration, "I'm done with it now."

"Aw, come on!" Graham carried on trying to wriggle past Martin's arms to snatch the book away, a boisterous grin stretching his lips.

"Leave it, Graham." Charlie laughed, but he reached out to push Graham back nonetheless, allowing Martin the space to sit up properly, "What're you gonna do with it anyway?"

"Exactly." Martin agreed, huffing and pulling the manual down onto his lap so that nobody could touch it without his permission; he clutched it against him, "It's none of your business."

For a moment, Martin hoped that that was that and that Charlie was already bored and would take Graham with him. If they didn't leave, he would have to get up and find a quiet corner to sit in on his own.

Then his hopes were shattered.

"Hey Crieff." Charlie started just as Graham had, placing a hand on the back of Martin's chair as he addressed him, "Were you in class this morning?"

"Yes." Martin replied, eyes narrowing as he looked up at Charlie. The question had been friendly enough, but there was something disconcerting about having to look _up_ at him; it didn't even give him a chance to try and use his…less than considerable height.

"So are you gonna rush out a get a job after exams are over?" Charlie inquired, turning to perch against the side of the desk, arms folding as he looked down at Martin.

Ah…that had been the subject on every student's lips, marred by panic – a panic that Martin didn't have to indulge in. He already had everything planned…as they all knew.

"He'll probably go to uni." Graham scoffed, thwacking the back of Martin's chair just a little too hard, "Won't you, huh?"

"No." Martin knew that he had to bite his tongue instead of snapping at them to leave him alone. So long as he didn't sound too exasperated with them, or too defensive about his book, they would leave him be.

"What do you mean no?" Charlie scrunched up his face in confusion.

"I'm going to apply to flight school." Martin explained, relishing the little flicker of pride that caught him every time he thought about it. It didn't matter what his parents or his teachers thought that he was _supposed_ to do; he had already been looking up flight schools, and he would be old enough to do whatever he wanted when the time came.

"Oh." Charlie nodded as if he understood, which was actually rather nice, if Martin did say so himself. It was almost like confirmation that his choice was a valid one.

"Isn't that just like uni?" Graham grunted, and he settled on Martin's other side against the desk, mirroring Charlie. The only difference was the bewilderment marring his features.

"I guess…it's a bit like uni." Martin nodded and curled his fingers around the edges of his manual, leaning back in his wheelie-chair so that he wasn't so close to the two of them, "But for pilots to train to get their licences."

"Sounds like its full of posh twats." Graham remarked, turning to Charlie as he spoke; it was clear that Martin wasn't a part of this particular conversation…suddenly Martin didn't feel quite so thrilled at the idea of sharing.

"Do they even let people into flight school if they pass out when they get dizzy?" Charlie asked, again, over Martin's head as if he wasn't there.

"Oh _yeah_." Graham exulted, then he turned his attention back to Martin, who was still sitting frozen in place, waiting for the tables to turn; he wasn't disappointed by the look on Graham's face as he said, "You can't even spin on the ropes in PE."

"I _can_." Martin retorted, hugging his book even closer to his chest; he glared down at his knees, muttering under his breath, "And yes, they do."

Martin wasn't sure what happened next – not quite. One moment Charlie and Graham were sniggering behind their hands, the next he was spinning and lurching to the side. Hands grasped the chair and his shoulders and _span_.

"Stop it!" Martin yelled as the dizziness caught him like a slap in the face, making his ears ring as the library whirled around him.

"We're only playing." Charlie chuckled, standing on one side of him while Graham stood on the other, both of them running around and around, spinning and spinning, keeping him on the chair.

"I don't care – stop it." Martin begged; he tried to run away, manual toppling from his arms, but Graham and Charlie kept him in place, head blurring, ears ringing, brain screaming, "Leave me alone!"

They didn't. They kept spinning him and spinning him so hard that the world fizzled out and Martin was weightless –

-then he was on his back, eyes closed, sound reaching him as if through fog, head whirling around in circles. Martin could hear voices above him.

"Oh crap!" Graham's voice pierced through the haze.

"You pushed him too fast!" Charlie's voice was more panicked, genuinely high-pitched with fear.

"I didn't mean to!" Graham cried.

Then there were heavy footfalls, racing away across the library.

Martin didn't know what to do, so he lay back and pretended that he was still unconscious…he waited until his head stopped spinning and his ears stopped ringing…and he just stayed there until an adult came to pick him up.

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**Thank you for reading : )**


	5. Chapter 5

**Five**

It was just Martin's luck. Martin's luck never changed – he didn't know why he had expected that it would. No matter how hard he tried, he always fell at the last hurdle.

Martin knew all the answers. If fact, Martin knew things that the answers had never heard of in their wildest dreams…and he was _proud_ of that. Lord knew he was proud of that…he had to be. Nobody else paid his achievements a lick of attention.

Not that failing one's CPL was an achievement. Not that spending all that money on flying lessons only to fail was an achievement. Passing the written exams was an achievement…it _was_. That's what Martin had to keep telling himself. The CPL he could retake…just one more time.

But he had passed the written exam.

So long as Martin kept telling himself that, he could hold back the crushing weight of failure and focus on the hot spike of frustration that flared in his chest and made him want to try again. Martin _would_ try again – and again, and another time after that if that was what it took to become a pilot.

Simon had had to retake his A-Level in politics and nobody thought any less of him…he'd still got the job in the end.

The thought did nothing to raise Martin's mood from its dreary low. When Martin had been informed of his failure, he had been miserable. However, he had hoped that he would be able to go home and wallow in comfort, then wilt in front of his family so that they could simper over him. Just a bit of sympathy, perhaps some special attention to make up for his loss; that was all he wanted.

No such luck. There was never such luck for Martin Crieff – at this rate, there never would be.

Before Martin had even been able to call his parents and inform them of what a disappointment their son was, Mum had called him. Martin's phone had rung in his pocket, far too loud, as he was riding the bus home.

Mum had called to say that Dad had had a health scare…on the day of Martin's exam, of all days. While Martin had been failing his CPL, Dad had been taken to hospital, then taken home to rest. They had thought that something was wrong with his heart, but apparently it had been a false alarm.

In retrospect, Martin knew that his problem was far less serious compared to his father's health scare. Even so, when he had finished being relieved that his Dad wasn't dying, Martin couldn't help but feel that everyone should try and be a little bit upset for him.

After all…Dad hadn't failed an exam and potentially ruined his future…he'd only had chest pains.

Martin didn't say ant of that out loud, of course. Instead, he was perfectly polite while talking to his mother.

"_You should go and get your father some flowers to make him feel better_." Mum cooed down the phone, oblivious to her son's private suffering, "_For his bedside – to make the room look nice when he's stuck in bed all alone_."

"Dad won't want flowers for your bedroom." Martin whinged, but he wouldn't have admitted it to a soul, as he pouted and picked at his trousers, listening to the bus's engines rumble beneath him, "He's not even in hospital."

"_Of course he'll want flowers. Everyone likes flowers_." Mum insisted, then there was a clattering down the line and her voice travelled as if over a distance, "_Here, Martin, I'll put Dad on the line."_

Martin huffed and rolled his eyes, curling closer to the window so that the other passengers didn't have to listen to him.

"_You alright son_?" Dad's voice rang in Martin's ear, "_How'd your exam go_?"

"I failed the CPL, Dad." Martin grumbled, somewhat pleased that he had remembered when Mum hadn't, "I'm not getting my license."

"_Oh well, these things happen_. _You can try again. _" Dad sighed, but the disappointment in his tone was loud and clear, "_Now – about these flowers_."

"Why would you want flowers?" Martin retorted.

"Now, come on. What kind of man doesn't want a big bunch of flowers, maybe some daffodils, proper up on his bedside table?" Dad crooned, "When you get here, I expect a proper bouquet, son. I'm sick after all."

"Yes, fine. I'll get you some flowers." Martin muttered, avoiding the gaze of the old woman that had turned in the seat in front of him as a smile curled his lips and something inside him warmed, "Bye Dad."

With that Martin hung up and shoved his phone in his pocket. When the time came, he hopped off the bus and made his way to the nearest shop on the high-street that sold flowers. Dad was probably right…things happened, but he could try again.

As was Martin's luck, the first shop on the high-street didn't sell flowers. In fact, Martin had to walk around for an hour, pulling his coat shut against the high winds and biting chill. Finally, he gave up and wandered into the big multi-story shop that sold everything from cheese sandwiches to lamps.

Dad wanted flowers, but Martin wasn't about to spend horrendous amounts of money on posh flowers for a man that was lounging about at home being waited on hand and foot by his wife.

Or…Martin tried to wander into the big multi-story shop…he didn't quite make it inside.

The entrance to the shop was filled with a rotating door; the sort that Mum always complained about when she was trying to navigate them with armfuls of bags and three children. Martin had never really had a problem with them…what he did have a problem with was the crowd of twelve year olds that were loitering in the doorway.

Martin had held an apathy for twelve year olds since he had been twelve years old…and it seemed that it was mutual.

As he strode into the revolving door, head down, hands in his pockets, Martin managed not to stare or scowl at the twelve year old boys and girls. He placed his hand on the glass as the door jammed in its rotation, tripping over his own feet.

Martin heard sniggers from behind him.

That was when everything went wrong. The moment that Martin tried to step through the wide gap on the other side of the door, the door whipped around on its central mechanism and hit him in the back.

Martin stumbled forwards, only to stumble again when the door whirled around, jamming and jarring. He turned his head to see the twelve year olds, two in each of the three other segments of the door. Each of them had a vicious smirk on their face as their little legs steamed along beneath them and they pushed the door around and around…and around and around…

Martin didn't get a good look at them. He was too busy keeping his legs beneath his body and focusing on avoiding another collision with the doors either side of him. He yelled and shouted, but he kept going around and around…getting dizzier and dizzier…spinning and spinning…

His head went fuzzy, his ears rang, his vision blurred…Martin knew what was happening before the weightlessness kicked in…

When Martin woke up, it was to find himself flat on his back, neck aching, head spiked through with pain, to the sight of a security guard on one side and a woman holding a water bottle and a baby on his other, while his face dripped from an early wake-up call.

As he talked his way out of an ambulance, Martin found himself thinking that now _he_ was the one that deserved the flowers.

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**Thank you for reading.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I was bored so I wrote the final chapter. Happy Easter Everyone.**

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+ **One**

Martin had woken up in a lot of strange places as a result of his inner ear problem. Sometimes they were dangerous, sometimes they were just embarrassing. Most of them time, Martin was just confused. That generally came when the faint was unexpected.

To be fair, Martin hadn't seen this particular faint coming. The last thing he remembered, or more accurately, the _first_ thing he remembered when his brain grumbled back into life and left his in darkness, was trying to navigate his way through the smoke filled fuselage. There had been no reason whatsoever to suspect that he might get dizzy…and yet…for some reason he was flat on his back with his eyes squeezed shut and his ears fizzling in rebellion.

Martin was more than used to strangers poking and prodding him when he had passed out, and he hated it. He was used to the overly loud questions and inquiries as to his health, name, and location.

What Martin wasn't used to were gentle hands skirting around his limbs and chest, and a warm familiar voice strained with unfamiliar panic that seeped into his bones and made him shiver with pleasurable recognition. He only had a second to ruminate on that before surprise caught him by the throat and jerked him into something not-quite-near alertness.

Martin's eyes snapped open just as his brain decided to inform him that he was almost upright, propped up on something that was probably a chair or bench…or possibly a wall…definitely a wall.

The first thing that he saw was the face of his First Officer leaning over him, brown eyes wide, cheeks pale, hair pushed back into messy locks behind her ears. The first thing that he thought was that the sight of Deborah Richardson worrying over him only an inch away was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen –

-then he snapped himself out of it.

Deborah was muttering, probably asking questions. Martin couldn't quite understand what she was saying…he thought it was because he was still groggy…it was probably because he was gaping, dazed as his hands shifted and collided with hers and she shook them off to press her fingers to his cheeks and stare into his eyes, only to move on and hook two fingers under his chin, more around his wrist.

Of all of the awkward situations that Martin had woken up in, this was quite nice actually. Deborah had never looked so frightened…and even though he should probably have been reassuring her, Martin couldn't help but admire her from this new peculiar angle and inwardly preen at being the centre of attention.

Martin was overly warm, nearly giddy.

"Martin…Martin?" Deborah's voice was as warm and smooth as always as her hands fastened around Martin's biceps, "I can see your eyes following me…speech would be a wonderful addition."

"Um…" Martin _was_ still dizzy, he supposed, but he couldn't quite find it in himself to move away or say something that would make Deborah shift out of his personal space, "I…ugh…um…"

"Alright, you're not going to help me, are you?" Deborah sighed, rolling her eyes in a wonderfully familiar motion; it was nice, something charming that she did, "Are you alright? _Martin?_...okay…I'm just going to give you a good old first-aid looking over…alright?"

Martin nodded and watched as Deborah leaned in even more and checked him over. She pushed a hand through her hair, like she did when she was stressed, and huffed as if she thought that he couldn't hear her, which she also did a lot…it was still the best place that Martin had woken up.

It was weird. Martin couldn't think of a single reason why Deborah might have been so scared, but it was _nice_. It was as if she actually cared which was _lovely_ actually…really, really _lovely._

Not that Martin cared.

She was married.

And she was _Deborah_…even if she wasn't married, she was still his _First Officer_ and…it was _Deborah_. Yes, she was attractive and talented and funny and generally perfect…but that was why Martin absolutely _didn't like her at all._

Well…he liked her as a friend, obviously. He _really_ liked her as a friend. If she wasn't so…_Deborah_, he might have said that she was his best friend…but _really_…no…absolutely not…at all…but…

No. The only reason he was enjoying the attention so much was because…_payback_.

That was it. Some weird sense of payback, because…b-because she was always looking down at him and now she was so worried about him that her face was so open and honest and her eyes were wide and wet and it made her look even nicer than she usually did and she was being more gentle than anyone had been in years…

Oh God…Martin jolted as he realised that he had to move before he let Deborah think that there was something seriously wrong with him.

"I-I-I'm fine." Martin stammered, raising his hands into the air so quickly that they thwacked Deborah's shoulders, which was even more embarrassing, even though she didn't really move out of the way, just sort of furrowed her brow and _looked_ at him; he tried to make it a joke, "R-really, I-I'm fine, I'm just…there's no need for you to um, t-to grope me."

Something in Deborah's expression shifted, but she didn't move away. Martin was highly aware of the fact that there were only a few inches between them and that he didn't want her to stop looking after him…it was so _nice_.

"Believe me, Martin, you'll _know_ when I grope you." Deborah drawled, some of the colour coming back to her cheeks; even so, her eyes searched his face and her hands rested on his wrists, "You're sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, y-yeah, i-it's just the, um…" Martin trailed off as the gravity of his predicament sunk in, and it hit him for the first time exactly what position they were in; him sprawled against the wall, her leaning over him, "It's just the…the dizziness. Like I told you."

"So you did." Deborah murmured, nodding solemnly as her chest hitched, her eyes continuing to wander while a frown played about her lips, "I must have simply…forgot."

"Never mind – i-it's not your fault." Martin assured her, although he wasn't sure why something in his chest was tugging guiltily at the look on her face, and he resisted the urge to reach out to her, "It's normal for people to forget when they're uh…when um…when they're…"

"Worried." Deborah finished for him.

"Yes." Martin replied with a nod and he watched as she nodded in return, settling back on her heels whilst keeping her gaze fixed on him as if she were afraid that he might break.

Now that he thought about it…it probably had been quite frightening…even for someone as brave as Deborah Richardson. It wasn't every day that a colleague keeled over without explanation.

And she had been there for him…was still there actually, which was a bit odd. Martin couldn't complain though. It really was nice…lovely…good to know that behind all of her bluster, Deborah really did _care_ about him. It would be a lie to say that he wouldn't have been just as scared if something happened to her.

Letting out a sigh and admitting to himself that he was perfectly healthy again, and had been for a while, Martin slid his hand across his knee until his palm was curled around Deborah's knuckles. If she asked, he would say that it was a clumsy gesture fuelled by dizziness.

"This um…this wall's doing my back in." Martin swallowed awkwardly as Deborah paid their joined hands no noticed whatsoever and nodded in time to his words, "Could, c-could we maybe go somewhere with chairs?"

"Of course, Captain." Deborah replied, finally lighting up with a genuine smile that made the laughter lines by her eyes appear, "Chairs are of course a valid treatment option that I shan't deprive you of any longer."

As Deborah took both of Martin's hands and pulled him to his feet, he allowed her to slip an arm through his and place a hand at his back as if she thought that he was going to keel over again. All the while, he couldn't keep his eyes off of her…if that was what she looked like when she was relieved to see him in good shape…well…Martin definitely wasn't considering taking advantage of his natural bad luck to ensure her attentions were on him.

Nevertheless, Martin had to admit as Deborah talked softly to him and patted his various limbs to ensure that he was comfortable…his inner ear problem was finally beginning to pay off.

Not that he was _at all_ interested…

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**This is the end now. Thank you everyone for reading, I hope it lived up to expectations. **


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